


Aerials

by sasha_b



Series: Live By The Sword [6]
Category: King Arthur (2004), Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 03:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Too many flips and turns can cause even the strongest man to break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aerials

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics courtesy of System of a Down.
> 
> Again, written out of order, posted in the order they were written. Arthur Castus, cop and upright citizen, Lancelot Benoit, the heir to a mobster's dynasty.

_Life is a waterfall, we drink from the river then we turn around and put up our walls_

“Captain! Move!”

 

Arthur dropped and rolled without even questioning the command, his gun flashing in the bright sparkly sunlight that reflected off every single fucking surface in the place.

 

Dagonet rushed past him, the tall officer sinking to his knees in front of Arthur, firing rapidly at the person that was hidden behind the giant fallen coffee cup that had broken against the concrete of the sidwalk.

 

Universal City Streets had been beautiful at one point. Not so much anymore.

 

Abandoned by the owners many years previous when the riots had started happening too often, the former shopping area had become a convenient place for criminals to hide – or for generally illegal things to take place. All the empty shops, broken facades, and hunks of metal made it a perfect setting for snipers to take pot shots at the hapless police that were sent in daily to ‘take them out’.

 

“I’ve got it,” Arthur said, raising up behind Dagonet, squinting through his plexiglass face plate, his father’s gun roaring in his hands. A cry was heard, then a thunk.

 

“Go,” Arthur commanded, and the three officers behind him and Dagonet ran forward, crouching in tight formation around each other.

 

A loud crunching sound echoed through the sudden silence, and the officers and Arthur all started, their guns raised.

 

A muffled “mmphf – fuck!” came from the direction of the sniper’s location, and Arthur raced from his position around the corner, gun still raised next to his face. He crouched a few feet from the large downed coffee cup, and pointed the Magnum at the sound. “Out!!!” he bellowed. 

 

Lancelot’s head poked up over the ceramic mug, his gun up and pointed at the man they had been after, his face all concentration, a small trickle of blood running from the corner of his eye. “Got it, Captain,” he answered, standing, leading the captive away from his hiding place.

 

He shoved the sniper at Tristan, who had come running once he saw Lancelot had gotten the man under control. He was quickly cuffed, and led toward the van parked near the entrance to the Streets.

 

“What the fuck was that?” Arthur asked Lance, his voice tightly controlled, but his hand betraying him by shaking slightly on his gun. Lancelot flipped up his visor, wiping the blood off quickly, then snapped it back down. You never knew who was out there – or who was aiming what at your face.

 

“You were supposed to be with the others,” the captain added in clipped tones. “You disobeyed a direct order.” Arthur looked around them, kept checking the sky, the empty shop facades. He was constantly on guard; while they had gotten one crazy, there could be more. Anytime.

 

“I got the guy; what difference does it make?” Lance answered, holstering his gun. He too was watching, his eyes ticking over Arthur’s shoulder. “Everything’s fine. I circled around the back. Oh,” he continued, a slightly sheepish expression his face, “there’s a few bodies you’ll need to send the ME back for.”

 

“Son of a bitch,” Arthur cursed, then radioed for the coroner’s van. “This isn’t finished,” he told Lancelot. “Wait for me back at the office.”

 

Lancelot frowned at his captain. “What? Why?”

 

“Just do it!” Arthur barked, and Lancelot made his way stiffly to his transport, his two guns slapping his sides, not looking back at Arthur.

 

Arthur paid him no attention as he conferred with Dagonet, Lancelot’s bike making a coughing sound as he screeched out of the parking lot, his embarassment made public by the burning smell of rubber on the pavement.

 

Arthur wanted to watch him go, had to force himself to listen to what Dagonet was saying. He would deal with the insubordination later.

 

It wouldn’t be fun.

 

*

 

_We hear the word we lost ourselves but we find it all_

 

“Do NOT disobey a direct order again, Benoit.”

 

Arthur paced in front of Lancelot, his own superior Commander Germanus, a weasily little man that had come down from the main office to witness Arthur’s ‘discussion’ with his officer, smiled like the rat he so resembled.

 

Lance stood immoble in front of Arthur, not moving, not acknowledging the dressing down. He had been through too many of these to not know how to act.

 

“Yes, captain,” he answered at last. “It won’t happen again.”

 

Arthur opened his mouth to say something when Germanus interrupted. “Do it again, Benoit, and I’ll throw you out on your spoiled brat ass. No matter how much Castus intercedes on your behalf. Do I make myself clear?”

 

“Crystal, commander.”

 

“Good. We have enough problems with the crap on the streets without trouble within the ranks distracting our captains. Dismissed.”

 

He waved a hand at Lancelot, who turned and made his way robotically out the door. It would have looked better had he not tripped on the edge of the frame, cursing unconsciously.

 

Arthur shut his eyes, and went to the door, handing the steel cap of Lancelot’s boot to him. The other man merely took it, their eyes meeting once.

 

Arthur shutting the door in his face was a sight Lancelot was tired of seeing.

 

*

 

The rubber ball hit the wall for perhaps the hundreth time.

 

As the thrower chucked it again, it was caught by a hand. Lancelot looked up into Arthur’s narrowed green eyes.

 

“Follow me,” was all he said. Lance sighed, got up, and followed his captain.

 

*

 

The birds chirped, the sun shone, and Arthur was as miserable as he’d ever been. The smoke from Lancelot’s cigarette made him cough, and he leant on the concrete railing, staring out at once scenic Beverly Hills.

 

Riddled with potholes, broken down cars that the auto squad were busy constantly trying to tow off, and oddly enough abandoned shoes and clothing, what used to be Rodeo provided a constant mine field of activity. Arthur didn’t normally spend much time in his office, but with Lancelot’s behavior lately –

 

He sighed, and waved a hand in front of his face. Despite the circulation and the tiny holes in the bullet proof windows, the smoke still irritated him.

 

Or was it the consistantly insubordinate actions of the man next to him?

 

“What’s going on with you?”

 

Lancelot took another drag off his cigarette, and stared out at the vista as well. “Nothing,” he replied. “What do you mean, captain?”

 

Arthur winced slightly at the tone. “You’ve been doing the exact opposite of what I ask. You’ve endangered yourself and other officers. I could have had you suspended weeks ago – but I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt here, Lance. Why? What’s the problem?”

 

Lancelot allowed his eyes to tick toward Arthur, his captain and … what else? So much more he wasn’t sure he would be able to put voice to it.

 

“There’s no problem, Arthur. I’m just doing my job. I’m getting things done – people brought in, collars taken off the streets. What more should you want from me?”

 

Arthur turned to face the other man, his displeasure warring with the sense that Lancelot’s comment made. 

 

“I should want you to follow procedure. We have a code here, Lance,” he added before the other man could interrupt, “a code that says ‘protect and serve,’ yes, but also says ‘without getting yourself killed – or your friends.’ You seem to be forgetting that part.”

 

The other man scoffed, dragging hard on his cigarette. “Please, Arthur. I’m not taking any chances the other men haven’t. Besides, where does it say that the end doesn’t justify the means?”

 

“Where does is say that it does?” Arthur shot back, moving to stand directly in front of the other man. Yanking the burning stick out of Lancelot’s hand, he crushed it beneath his heel. “You risk my job and yours by doing that kind of thing. I don’t want to spend any more time with Commander Germanus than I have to – and I also don’t relish the idea of having to come down to the morgue to identify your body after some hapless mistake, Lancelot!”

 

Arthur’s nostrils would have shot smoke if he was able. Lancelot didn’t back down; he never did. Straightening up, the younger man was shorter than Arthur and not as broad, but his personality could go ten rounds with Arthur’s and not bat an eyelash.

 

“Don’t you fucking use that name,” he flared, his eyes narrowing, “and you wouldn’t have to ID me, Artorius! I’m not going to get killed over something as stupid as some idiotic perp! It wouldn’t be worth my funeral time to die over something like that!”

 

Arthur gritted his teeth, and leant in closer. “How do you know that?” he hissed. “You can’t know how or when. That’s what being mortal’s about, Lance. That’s why this job takes so many people with it – mentally as well as physically. I hesitated when you wanted to be under my command; not for your lack of ability,” he added as the other man bristled, “but whether or not we could actually work together and make it succeed.”

 

He backed off somewhat, his eyes moving to the broken vista in front of them. Lancelot was uncharacteristically quiet, and Arthur finally looked back at him. The brown orbs stared at him, clear and calm. “It’s not working, is it?”

 

_Swimming through the void we hear the word_

 

Arthur sighed. “Not the way it’s supposed to, Lance. We’re too close to make it work. It’s like trying to be the boss of someone you’re friends with – sooner or later personal issues come into play.”

 

_Aside from the fact I have an ulcer from worrying you’ll die on me._

 

“Arthur,” the younger man started, his crisp uniform starting to wilt in the heat, “I love this job. At least, I think I do. And that’s because of you…in the ways that count, at any rate. I don’t want to leave it – or leave your team. But if you think it’s wise,” he swallowed heavily, “I’ll consider it.”

 

Arthur tilted his head, his hands on his hips, his eyes probing Lancelot’s. He saw no hidden agenda there, nor any lie or deceit. Lancelot was a consummate liar – but not if Arthur could look him in the eye.

 

Those brown irises never could hide anything from the older man.

 

“I’m so proud of you for following through on this,” he replied at last. “What you’ve done…leaving your past behind like you did…you’re one of the strongest people I know. Not many could have done that. I don’t want to take that accomplishment away from you. But I don’t want to worry constantly that you’re going to get butchered in front of my eyes, either.”

 

A sharp retort was on Lancelot’s lips, but he snapped his mouth shut as the red lights in the station came to life.

 

“All on duty personnel please report to squad cars. 271 in progress at Beverly and Fairfax. Heavy fire involved. Repeat: report to squad cars with armor and weapons.”

 

“That’s the Batsignal,” Lance commented dryly. “Meet me at the Coffee Bean later and we can talk.”

 

Arthur nodded, and both of the men raced for the basement, stopping to grab their various weapons and kevlar.

 

Lance twirled his guns once before sliding them into their holsters. “Come on, Jesse James,” he called to Arthur, “Billy’s killing the cattle again. Let’s get ‘em.”

 

Arthur shook his head, snapping his face plate into place, and followed.

 

*

 

Steam issued from the men’s locker room, but only one person currently occupied it. Arthur let the water run over his body, a few new bruises decorating his upper arm and ribs where a round had slammed into him. Thank God for kevlar.

 

Blood also ran from his hair, a stitched laceration still weeping slightly.

 

Heavy fire. He snorted. Kids with flame throwers and home made molotov cocktails made for dangerous foes. They had nothing else to live for – so why not try and take as many cops with you as possible?

 

The small private cubicle was dark and the walls felt good and tight to Arthur – he wasn’t claustrophobic by any means – and sometimes a little solidity surrounding him made him feel halfway protected. He’d never admit it, but his job did scare him at times.

 

Lancelot hadn’t managed to cock it up, either, although Arthur had caught sight of him once, dangling like Spiderman from a wire outside the parking garage the kids were hidden in.

 

He had cursed a blue streak and gotten on the radio immediately, but couldn’t reach the other man; the other captain involved had drafted Lance into doing it, so Arthur couldn’t exactly fault him for it.

 

He banged his head a few times on the tile wall softly; watching as the crimson from his wounds whirled down the drain like in that scene from Psycho he would never forget. He fucking hated horror movies.

 

He and Lance and Gwen had gone to see that together at some all night fest when they were still in school; the siblings had spent the entire time laughing at him everytime he jumped, Gwen tickling his arm to force it, and Lance throwing popcorn at him til he started catching it in his mouth just to annoy them.

 

Come to think of it; that was the first night he and Lancelot had –

 

No. Forget it. Best not to think of that right now. Not when he was supposed to be angry. And thinking fondly on Lancelot and his past wouldn’t help him figure out just what was going on with the other man.

 

Lancelot was jumpy. He snapped at Arthur frequently; his temper flaring at lot more quickly than it ever had when they were younger. Any time he and Arthur spent alone in Arthur’s loft was filled with strange silences punctuated only by the noises they made during their frequently more violent sex.

 

And it was just that. Arthur liked whatever he could get from Lancelot generally, but he preferred the act to have some sort of meaning – not just a hollow fuck on his floor. He could have gotten that anywhere – and from anyone. Hell, his own hand was gentler than his partner had been lately. He wasn’t exactly a teenager either, and had gotten past the point of desperation when it came to sex.

 

Not that he didn’t find everything about Lancelot a turn on. That was partly the problem. He would never say no to the other man…despite the fact that he missed the deep intimacy they had when it wasn’t so rough and hurried. He felt like Lance – who had always been extremely vocal during lovemmaking, but who wasn’t now except for calling Arthur’s name – was turning into someone he had almost forgotten about.

 

That nasty, self absorbed, broken, spoiled child that had been king of the Benoit empire, if only for a little while.

 

Arthur had the sneaking suspicion that that boy was trying to make an appearance again. He had been hearing some horrid rumors over the past few weeks that he had studiously been trying to ignore, and had managed to up until now. 

 

“He wouldn’t do that,” Arthur whispered through the fog of moisture. “Not again. Not after all he’s had to fight his way out of.”

 

Seeing your family was one thing.

 

Taking payouts for protection? That was a ridiculous notion – and one he wouldn’t even consider.

 

He scrubbed the rest of the shampoo out of his hair, the wound having stopped seeping, and turned the water off, wrapped a towel around his waist, and padded barefoot out of the shower.

 

As he was shaving he caught sight of himself in the crappy mirrors the department provided, and his hand hesitated, the razor hovering next to his face, half of his cheek lathered up.

 

_Always wanna play but you never wanna lose_

 

Big green eyes, a few scars, eyebrows that stood out against the paleness of his skin. Grey in his sideburns and at his temples. His nose, broken in a fight many years ago, spotted with ridiculous freckles that Lancelot still teased him about.

 

“Sweet little spots,” he had drawled, touching Arthur’s nose. “Like Pippi Longtocking, you are.”

 

Arthur had made him pay for that comment – in more ways than one.

 

“All right, all right,” Lancelot had breathed, huffing and bruised, his bo staff held in front of him a few hours later, “no more cutesy comments. And I will have to admit you’d look ridiculous with red pigtails.”

 

Arthur smiled at the memory, then noted with some surprise the lines in his forehead and along his mouth didn’t go away anymore when he stopped smiling.

 

He moved his head, and saw the twin holes in his left ear, long forgotten. Lancelot still wore one or two earrings when he chose to; Arthur had let his close when he joined the academy.

 

He wondered if Gwen still wore the diamonds they all had.

 

He had to grimmace at his vanity; he didn’t spend a lot of time ‘checking out’ his appearance – he left that to Lancelot and his obsession over his hair – but he did notice when things changed drastically from his remembered image of himself.

 

When did he get old?

 

He dropped his eyes to his razor again, and finished shaving quickly, forcing his thoughts somewhere else. Like what the hell he and Lancelot were going to talk about – and how Arthur could possibly stay calm.

 

He was determined to try.

 

*

 

“Arthur!”

 

He pushed through the crowd at the Coffee Bean register, and flopped into the seat across from Lancelot.

 

The other man handed Arthur a mug of espresso, and waited while Arthur drank a few sips. “Thanks,” he said, setting the mug down, the rich Italian flavor hitting him quickly and warming his throat and stomach. It warmed his chilly worry as well. He smiled tentatively at Lancelot, who was watching him intently.

 

The corner of Arthur’s mouth rose when he got a good look at Lancelot. The man was impeccably dressed as always – except he was wearing one of Arthur’s shirts. He must have been in a hurry, or distracted enough to forget.

 

One eyebrow rose, and he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading. Lancelot frowned.

 

“It was clean, all right? Sorry.”

 

“You look fine,” Arthur commented innocently, drinking more of his coffee. He hid his smirk behind the large mug.

 

Actually he rather liked the way Lance looked in his clothes – but he wasn’t telling the other man that. His head was big enough as it was.

 

Finishing his drink, Arthur managed to stop laughing, and sighed at the look of concentration on the younger man’s face.

 

“You all right?” he asked. Lancelot nodded. “Slightly bruised, but I’ll live. I don’t see how anyone can rock climb for fun. My arse will be sore for a week.” He smiled weakly. Reaching out one hand, he tugged aside the collar of Arthur’s shirt. “You all right?”

 

Arthur shrugged his shirt back up, the large bruise starting to purple. “Fine,” he answered shortly; he hated discussing his own wounds. Besides, he was only hurt slightly. The bruises would fade soon.

 

He and Lancelot discussed work trivialities for a while; both of them uncomfortable and not wanting to bring up uneasy subjects.

 

At last, after moaning about how badly the Angels had been doing that season, Arthur dropped his eyes to his now empty mug, and spoke.

 

“I’ve been hearing some things about you. Some things I hope aren’t true. You know how people are at tight knit jobs – things get out.”

 

Lance banged his hand down on the table, startling the couple next to them. Arthur’s eyes snapped to the other man’s, shocked at the behavior. Lancelot radiated anger; Arthur hadn’t seen that look on his face in – well, maybe never.

 

“And you believe them?” he asked softly, dangerously. His jaw muscle was ticking slightly, his hands were clenched together on the formica table top.

 

“I didn’t say that, Lance. I just said – I wanted to tell you the truth. I thought we always said no lies between us.”

 

_Yeah. And that’s worked out swimmingly._

 

“I don’t lie to you, Arthur.” The words were clipped, and Arthur was sure ice might start forming in the air at any second. He remembered to keep his tone light, putting out a hand, touching the other man’s fingers.

 

“I know. I’m only concerned for your well being…and your sanity, Lance. I know what you went through to get away from them; I don’t want to see you broken and sucked back in, especially if there was something I could have done. I don’t,” Arthur continued, softer now, “I can’t lose you. Not again.”

 

Lancelot cocked his head, eyeing Arthur, but he didn’t let go of his fingers. “You sure you don’t want to just make your job easier by not having me around to fight with?”

 

Arthur blew out a harsh breath, his shoulders rising. “I can’t believe you’d say that. I can’t believe you’d even think that. Jesus, Lancelot.”

 

He stiffened and drew his hand away. The younger man’s hand seemed to chase after Arthur’s, then perhaps thought better of it. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth.

 

“Arthur, God. I’m truly sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I know you’re not like that. I – just, I’ve been under a lot of strain. I know I’ve been distant. I’m sorry for it.”

 

Arthur watched him; Lance moved forward slightly, his body language open and contrite. He sighed, ran a hand through his perfect hair, which made it corkscrew all over the place, and put out his hand again.

 

Arthur took it back this time.

 

“Can I do anything? It worries me that you’re shutting me out like this,” Arthur said quietly. The noise and the crowd at the Bean faded; all he could see was his long time friend and lover, and that he was hurting. Arthur had to fix it. Somehow.

 

He wouldn’t be much of a friend if he didn’t at least try.

 

_Always want to go but you never want to stay_

 

Lance smiled brightly at Arthur and clutched at his hand. Arthur rolled his eyes inwardly. He knew that look. That was the ‘I’m not going to tell you what’s wrong’ expression…and there wasn’t much he could do about it.

 

“No, Arthur. Stop shouldering the world. I’m going to start calling you Atlas if you don’t watch it. I’m not trying to shut you out – I promise.”

 

Arthur stood, tugging the other man to his feet. “Let’s walk. It’s getting too close in here.”

 

Lancelot regarded him quizzically, but followed.

 

*

 

“What are we doing here?”

 

Lance’s voice was grumpy, and slightly fearful. Arthur wasn’t sure if this was the brightest idea he’d ever had, but he wasn’t backing down now.

 

The large building they had walked to was five or so blocks from Arthur’s loft, at the edge of downtown. It was glassy and open, a marvel of modern architecture. And Arthur could almost feel the chill eminating from it.

 

“Look at it, Lancelot,” Arthur commented, standing behind the other man, his hand guiding Lance’s chin forward, forcing him to stare at the seventy story monstrosity. His other hand he rested smoothly on Lance’s hip. Lancelot frowned at Arthur’s casual use of his name, but didn’t say anything about it.

 

“But,” the younger man started again, and Arthur squeezed his hip. 

 

“Just look,” he said again softly. “This is Benoit International. Home to your fortune – and your family. Home to your cars, and your servants, and your large collection of CPA’s.”

 

The riverwalk they were standing on was empty at the late hour. A few guards were on duty in the building, but Lancelot and Arthur both knew the amount of hidden security there – the building was practically impregnable.

 

Lance just breathed for a moment, then took a long look, scanning the towers, the large parking structure, the huge old (and expensive) magnolias that lined the walk. He saw the Jags, the Hummers, the BMW’s and Vipers in the lot. He remembered the plush carpet, the pricey champagne and coffee service that was always ready for him, no matter the hour. 

 

He remembered the many women (and not a few men) that were there should he ever want for anything – anything at all.

 

And he remembered the emptiness that ate at his gut like a living parasite that wouldn’t die no matter how much he drank to kill it.

 

Arthur turned him gently to face him, his voice tender, his eyes only on his friend.

 

“Now look at me.”

 

Lance did. Arthur waited a few moments, then cupped the other man’s cheeks in his warm palms.

 

“I’m not rich. I’m not able to buy you a new car when you get tired of your old one. I’m not someone who’ll fall at your feet or answer your every beck and call. But I’ll tell you what I am.”

 

He leant back away from Lancelot, dropping his hands, his arse going to rest on the railing at the edge of the river.

 

“I’m just a person. I’m just me, Arthur Castus. I may not be this,” he swept his hand to indicate the large building, “but I love you. With no strings. I won’t let you down purposefully, and I don’t ask anything in return. So you have a choice, here. You can go to them…or you can come with me. I don’t need to lay out the differences, do I?”

 

_when you lose small mind you free your life_

 

Lancelot made a little choking noise. He stared at Arthur, eyes wide. His mouth flopped, and he stared some more. He took a breath like he was going to speak, then he shut his lips.

 

He took one stumbling step toward Arthur, then another, and another until he was wrapped up in the older man’s embrace. He didn’t make a sound, but Arthur’s collar was soaked quickly.

 

Arthur’s eyes drifted shut, and a little shudder made it’s way through him. He would never admit to himself just how unsure he had been of Lancelot’s answer.

 

Thank all the gods that it had been what Arthur wanted. He wouldn’t contimplate what he would have done had Lance not made that choice.

 

“I love you, too,” Lancelot nuzzled into Arthur’s neck, his snuffling sound almost comical, but Arthur didn’t laugh. He was too full to laugh.

 

Of what, he wasn’t quite sure.

 

“Arthur,” the other man said suddenly, pulling back so he could look him in the eyes, “this isn’t ‘and they lived happily ever after.’ This isn’t ‘and he sheathed Excalibur and rode off into the sunset.’ I’m still me. I still have – issues. I can’t guarantee you won’t get angry again. And I can’t guarantee that I’ll be one hundred percent easy to get along with. But I’m willing to try at least…especially because I know I have you behind me.”

 

Arthur raised a hand, running his thumb over Lancelot’s cheekbones, his eyebrows, and his lips finally. “I’ve always been there. You just couldn’t see me,” he replied, his voice catching, “…see me now.”

 

“I do. Fuck, Arthur, I do. I can’t see anything else.”

 

Arthur pressed soft lips against Lancelot’s mouth; the jolt he felt every time, no matter how many times he kissed the other man, zinging it’s way up and down his frame. 

 

“Arthur,” Lancelot breathed, lips parting, kissing back fervently. He pushed hungrily against Arthur, his body making Arthur press painfully into the iron railing behind him. He barely noticed it. 

 

He did notice, however, that besides wearing Arthur’s shirt, Lancelot was also wearing his father’s cufflinks, the big platinum ‘B’ ones. He kept quiet about that.

 

“Let’s go, hm?”

 

Lance nodded his agreement, and they walked together back the five blocks to Arthur’s loft, stuck together like two drunks having to support each other.

 

*

 

It hit Arthur around three a.m. that the younger man had never really answered his question about the rumors…but Arthur wasn’t going to bring those up. He hoped and prayed that with his help Lancelot could get past whatever doubts he was having about himself and his future.

 

Arthur would bring up the idea of them going to separate departments again; he still thought it was a good idea. 

 

He’d rather not work with Lance, and instead be able to see him in the capacity he wanted, no strings, no fighting, no worrying.

 

He turned his head, and gazed at the extraordinary person in his bed. The man would realize his worth if it took Arthur his whole life to convince him of it. And he would, even if he had to beat him over the head with a two by four to do it.

 

He felt a twinge of loss at the thought of Lancelot’s sister – but she was too far in to do much about it. Not like he hadn’t tried.

 

He would consider himself blessed if he could save one Benoit from the hell they had created for themselves.

 

Lancelot mumbled in his sleep, and splayed out a hand, searching for Arthur’s warmth. Arthur smiled and took up the fingers, pressing his lips to the palm. Lance smiled beatifically, never waking. 

 

Arthur knew he had done the right thing. They’d work out the real life issues in the morning.

 

He would be able to wear his father’s gun with pride, confident that he could be, at last, half the man Uther Castus had hoped for him to be.

 

_When you free your eyes eternal prize_


End file.
